


An Unusual Day

by enchantedsleeper



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Also sort of College AU-adjacent, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Georgie's great at going on dates, Less great at direct communication but they work it out, Minor Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn, Slight warning for Jennifer's nerve-wracked internal monologue, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedsleeper/pseuds/enchantedsleeper
Summary: Jennifer Delacroix is content with her morning routine of buying a latte from the cute barista working at Funn Coffee. Maybe she doesn't reallytalkto her, but it's fine, Jennifer's terrible with social interaction anyway. She's perfectly happy with a smile, a brush of fingers across the counter, and an expertly-brewed latte.Then one day Jennifer changes everything by deciding to sit in with her coffee - and all of a sudden the residents of Piffling Vale are determined to let her know that Georgie Crusoe is great at going on dates.What could it mean?
Relationships: Georgie Crusoe/Jennifer Delacroix
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	An Unusual Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whelvenwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/gifts).



> Guess who's back with moar Wooden Overcoats fic! \o/ Since the last time I wrote fic for this fandom, I finished listening to Season 3, and I am of the opinion that Georgie/Jennifer make the cutest couple :3 Their conversation in the s3 finale was too cute! I am all for this ship becoming canon in s4!!
> 
> I didn't have any ideas for fic for them initially but my dear friend [whelvenwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/works) and I have been sending this notebook back and forth between our two houses during the lockdown and on one of the pages, I did a "Coffee Shop AU opening lines" thing where they had to fill in what one character might say to the other when meeting for the first time in a coffee shop. For Jennifer Delacroix to Georgie Crusoe, they wrote (possibly not exact wording since I already sent the notebook back so I don't have it to hand 😂):
> 
> "Some strange people keep coming up to me and telling me that you're great at going on dates."
> 
> I was GONE, I tell you. I HAD to write it! And I had a heck of a great time writing the fluffy, cute, silly thing that resulted. Coffee shop AUs are such a joy! How have I never written one before? Ah well, there's a first time for everything. And a Piffling Vale-flavoured coffee shop was the best kind to write xDD There's some bonus Chapyard at the end because I realised Chapman hadn't been in the fic at all up to that point and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Here it is, dear whelvenwings - thank you for the pitch-perfect prompt/dialogue that inspired this! <3 :D It's a joy to share a love of this podcast with you ❤

It all started when Jennifer Delacroix broke her routine.

She’d been working herself up to doing it for weeks now – maybe even a couple of months – and it was not the kind of decision she entered into lightly. Jennifer enjoyed her routine; she’d settled into it over close to a year of working at the radio station next to Piffling Vale Community College.

Her routine went like this: her alarm went off at 5am. She would hit the snooze button at least once, usually twice, and eventually drag herself out of bed sometime between 5:15 and 5:20. She would then do some modified yoga stretches to get her blood flowing and wake herself up a little bit. She’d think about making coffee in the machine that remained, still untouched, on her kitchen counter ever since her mother had given it to her the Christmas before last. She’d think about how she really ought to use it. And then she’d shower, get dressed, pick up her handbag, and set off on the ten minute walk to the coffee shop across the street from the radio station and buy a large latte to go.

The coffee shop had an odd history: it had historically been deeply unpopular (even with the student crowd, who were notoriously un-picky with their coffee) with a reputation for horrible customer service and uninteresting coffee. However, two years ago a barista had started working there who was great with people (and great at brewing coffee), and at the same time they’d switched to a much better blend of coffee beans with notes of clementine. It didn’t stop the trendy, artsy café across the road from pulling in more customers, but the coffee shop had a steady trickle of business. It helped that their prices were cheap.

When Jennifer went into the coffee shop first thing in the morning it was usually nearly empty, with maybe a couple of students hanging around the counter nursing a hangover or fuelling an all-nighter. Just one barista worked the opening shift on weekdays: a petite, funny, curvy and forthright woman whose nametag read ‘G. Crusoe’. The other baristas and regulars called her Georgie.

Most people thought it was strange for a radio presenter, but Jennifer wasn’t actually that good at talking to people. Professionally she was; she could talk to anyone for work – she’d spoken to all kinds of people in the course of reporting the news and getting the story out, and she always knew which questions to ask. As soon as she introduced herself with “Jennifer Delacroix, Piffling FM,” she knew where she was, and they knew where they were, and she felt confident.

But in a non-professional context, in a personal context, she was all over the place. She never knew what to say. She would invariably over-explain things, or stammer, or say the wrong thing, or not say anything at all, and an awkward silence would hang there until one of them made an excuse to end the conversation.

Which is why Jennifer’s routine was this: get to the coffee shop for around 5:45 in the morning. Occasionally spend a few minutes queuing on the rare occasion that there was another person at the counter already placing their order. Walk up to the counter and avoid making direct eye contact with Georgie, instead looking at her nametag, or her hands – she always had some kind of bright nail polish with a clever effect, sunset colours fading into each other, or silver starbusts against pink or blue. One time she’d been wearing the colours of the Sapphic flag, purple, pink, gold and light green, and Jennifer had dared to hope. But she told herself it was probably a coincidence.

She would wait for Georgie to ask “The usual?”, tucking a stray loose spiral of hair back behind her ear, the rest of her thick mass of dark curls barely held in check by her scrunchie. She’d nod, attempting to seem casual, and would attempt a smile (nervous, it always looked nervous when she practiced it in the mirror) just as Georgie was turning away to prepare her order. Out of the corner of her eye she’d watch Georgie’s hands moving over the espresso machine, her nails quick flashes of colour as she prepared the drink with precision and flair.

All too soon it would be done, and Georgie would be fitting the lid on a cup emblazoned with the coffee shop’s logo (“FUNN COFFEE” in all caps and in a slightly ominous red that honestly looked a lot like blood) and handing it across the counter. Jennifer would take the cup carefully, and if she angled her hands just right, their fingers would brush. Georgie would say, “Have a nice day,” or “Have a good one,” or even, “Good luck at work today,” (Jennifer faltered and almost dropped the cup the first time she said that one, before recovering with a blush) and Jennifer would respond with, “Thanks!” or “You too!” and then walk towards the door. She never looked back to see if Georgie was watching her, because she didn’t want to get her hopes up. (Besides, why would she be?) Then she’d head to the studio and be there ready for a 6:30 AM start.

This was Jennifer’s routine, and it was a good one. She didn’t go into the coffee shop at any other time, despite the fact that she’d thought about grabbing lunch there, or a second, afternoon coffee. She’d walked past it plenty of times and stopped to peer in the window, watching the other barista (a diminutive, surly and short-tempered man called Rudyard who was terrible with the customers. He also owned the place) arguing and bantering with Georgie, Georgie chatting and joking with the customers, Georgie dealing with the lunchtime rush, her hair escaping from the confines of her scrunchie as she made drink after drink with lightning speed. On very rare occasions when the coffee shop was totally empty, Jennifer had glimpsed another woman: pale, almost insubstantial, who hovered around the counter. She had a sort of familial resemblance to Rudyard, though by the looks of things they didn’t get along.

She could have gone into the coffee shop at other times, but Jennifer felt like it would be too much of a risk – upsetting the natural order of things, throwing it all out of alignment. What if she came in the middle of a rush and caught Georgie at a bad moment? What if she tried to make conversation when the coffee shop was too full and held her up? What if she didn’t even get to see Georgie or be served by her, and had to deal with the surly owner, Rudyard, instead? Or what if she bumped into another customer, spilling coffee everywhere and looking like a fool in front of Georgie?

No, it was safest to stick to her routine. Jennifer was happy: she got a great latte to start the morning, she was always on time for work and caffeinated, and she got to see and spend time (well, ten minutes or so) with Georgie every morning. There was nothing else that she needed.

But then she went and changed everything.

* * *

What happened was this: Jennifer had a day off from work.

She hadn’t been planning to take any days off in particular, least of all in the middle of the week. But her manager had started to make noises about her working too much and how she had all of this holiday she hadn’t used, and in a slight panic, Jennifer had asked for the following Wednesday off, as if she’d been planning to do that all along. It was easier, she reasoned, to ease herself into having time off bit by bit than to get cornered into booking off a whole week or more.

The idea of not going into work, even for a single day, left her feeling strangely unmoored, but Jennifer had had an idea: she would go into Funn Coffee and this time, she would sit down and have a drink instead of leaving with her coffee right away.

She wouldn’t rock the boat too much – she wouldn’t try to make conversation with Georgie (and she would be _very_ careful when carrying her coffee to a table) or do anything too different, she would just – have it in. And spend some time in the coffee shop (near Georgie). She could bring a book, and soak up the ambiance – coffee shops were good for ambiance, weren’t they?

And so it was decided. The next day, Jennifer woke up at 7 o’clock in the morning. She’d sort of been planning to wake up at her usual time, but the idea of spending just a couple of hours extra in bed was surprisingly appealing. Jennifer had trained herself to be an early riser, but she didn’t love it.

The rest of her routine proceeded as normal, except for the part where she thought about making herself a coffee, because today she’d definitively made up her mind to visit the coffee shop. Maybe she should just gift the coffee machine to her sister and be done with it.

Jennifer had a little nervous thrill in her chest as she walked down to the coffee shop, a tote bag over one shoulder with her purse and a book to read. Sternly, she tried to tell herself not to be nervous – this was just a normal visit to the coffee shop.

It didn’t _really_ work, and Jennifer had to take a few seconds to breathe deeply before pushing open the door to Funn Coffee.

To her relief, Georgie was still behind the counter serving customers, and the coffee shop wasn’t too busy: only half of the tables were occupied by early-rising students getting some study hours in before class and one older woman whom Jennifer recognised as Agatha Doyle, owner of the local sweetshop The Broken Tooth. She was deep into a battered mystery novel, a half-drunk cup of Earl Grey at her elbow. Jennifer scoped out an empty table tucked away in a corner and hoped that no-one claimed it while she was ordering her coffee.

There was a line of three people at the counter, so Jennifer joined the queue behind them. At that moment, Georgie looked up from scrawling a customer’s name on the side of a coffee cup – and to Jennifer’s complete surprise, she looked right at Jennifer and smiled.

“Hey, you’re in later than usual today. D’you get the day off work?”

Jennifer felt her face flush and her heart rate pick up. Georgie _was_ talking to _her_ , right? She discreetly glanced about to make sure there was no-one behind her that Georgie could be addressing. She’d been all set to wait her turn and then nod as Georgie asked her if she wanted the usual, and then oh-so-casually ask if she could have it in, rehearsing the exact wording inside her head. But now Georgie was looking at her, and making _small talk_ , and smiling _at her_ , and Jennifer was panicking.

“Uh-um, me? I mean, uh, yes! Yes I do! I’m off work today.”

Georgie nodded calmly, as if Jennifer wasn’t blushing and stammering and making a complete and utter fool of herself. “That’s nice. What’re you gonna do with it?”

Again, Jennifer felt the urge to check to make sure that Georgie was addressing her, even though that was absurd, because _of course she was_. But didn’t she have customers to serve? Should she be talking to Jennifer? None of them looked annoyed, though, so maybe this was normal. Clearly this was what normal people who weren’t a complete social disaster did in coffee shops: they talked to each other.

“Uh, reading,” Jennifer managed. “A book. I’ve brought a book to read.”

Georgie nodded, and then went to the coffee machine, starting to make coffee for the person at the front of the queue, so Jennifer assumed that the conversation was over. However, after taking the order of the next person in line, Georgie seamlessly resumed their conversation.

“So, you’ll be wanting to have yours in, then?”

“That’s right!” Jennifer exclaimed, a little too loudly. “Uh, that is, I was going to ask for that. When I got to the front. I’d like to have mine in today.”

Georgie smiled again, just a little. Jennifer realised that she hadn’t often seen that expression on Georgie’s face – it wasn’t that she wasn’t _friendly_ , she was lovely. She just didn’t smile all that often. Her default resting expression was a little fierce, a little intense, though Jennifer had often glimpsed her smirking at Rudyard, the angry little man who owned the coffee shop. They teased each other a lot, from what she could tell. Jennifer had also seen her smiling at an elderly woman who came in around mid-morning, and who looked startlingly like Georgie, albeit with glasses and shorter, greying salt-and-pepper hair twisted into locs. Her grandmother, if Jennifer had to guess.

It was possible that Jennifer had spent a lot more time than was normal looking in the window of the coffee shop and observing Georgie, but the point was this: Georgie didn’t smile at just anyone. But Georgie had smiled twice. At _her_.

What did it mean?

“Would you like the usual?” Georgie asked, after smoothly serving one customer their drink and then moving to start the next order. “Or did you wanna try something different today?”

Jennifer was thrown. On the one hand, she had been planning to keep things as close to her routine as possible to avoid some kind of spontaneous disaster. On the other, they were already completely off-script, and Jennifer hated to say no, with Georgie being so thoughtful. Besides, this way she could keep the conversation going.

“What would you recommend?” Jennifer asked carefully. There! A normal reply.

Georgie looked thoughtful. “Your regular order’s a latte, so… have you ever tried a flat white?”

Jennifer hadn’t the faintest idea what a flat white was. The line moved, and Jennifer shuffled forward – now she was almost at the front. “I’ve never had one, but if you think it’d be good, I’d uh, I’d like to try it.” She offered up a smile, hoping desperately that it didn’t look too fixed and awkward.

“Great choice. I’ll get that ready for you.”

Jennifer surreptitiously wiped her sweaty palms against her jeans, the words, _“Great choice”_ looping over and over inside her head. She was finding it hard to stop smiling.

Georgie laid out a tray on the counter and placed Jennifer’s flat white on it – it came in a shallow, almost bucket-like cup. Georgie had added an artistic swirl of foam on the top. They didn’t exchange any more conversation as Jennifer pulled out her card and paid, hoping that Georgie wouldn’t notice the slight trembling in her hands. However, as she oh-so-carefully picked up her tray, preparing to take it to the still-empty table in the corner, Georgie said, “Hope you enjoy it.”

“You too!” Jennifer replied automatically, and then cringed. Oh _no._ She’d done it. She’d messed up the conversation. She contemplated putting down her tray and then sprinting out of the coffee shop, never to return. No, no, that would be ridiculous. And then she wouldn’t be able to drink this coffee that Georgie had so kindly recommended and prepared for her.

“I mean, not you too, uh, sorry, that was a mistake,” Jennifer babbled, her mouth as usual running away from her in an awkward social situation. “I meant _me_ too, as in, I hope I enjoy the drink as well. Except, of course I will, because you recommended it, so I’m sure it’s good. And you made it! So it’ll be excellent! I’m looking forward to drinking it.”

 _Oh god, Jennifer, just stop talking!_ she hissed at herself. She was still standing by the counter, holding her tray. She peeked at Georgie out of the corner of her eye and was relieved to see that the other woman wasn’t laughing at her or recoiling in horror. She just nodded, like it was a completely normal exchange.

“Yeah, I knew what you meant. I hope it lives up to expectations.”

“Of course you knew what I meant. God, I must sound so stupid,” Jennifer grumbled, half to herself. “Sorry – I’ll get out of your hair now and go read my book.”

She carried the tray over to the table, so busy feeling mortified that she forgot to worry about tripping and spilling the coffee everywhere. As she left, though, she heard Georgie say quietly, “You don’t sound stupid.”

She didn’t dare glance back until she was over at her table, and when she did, Georgie was already busy serving another customer. Jennifer let out a breath, and wiped her hands again on her jeans for good measure. Fortunately, no-one else in the coffee shop seemed to have been paying attention to her very public display of idiocy. Thank heavens for small mercies.

Jennifer sighed slightly and sat down, pulling out her book and flipping it open to her bookmark. That was what she got for deviating from her routine, clearly. She reached for the flat white and took a cautious sip, her eyes widening slightly. Georgie had been right – it was a great choice.

* * *

Jennifer was several pages deeper into her book, her coffee half-drunk, when it happened the first time. A man approached her table; at first Jennifer thought that the coffee shop must have got a lot busier and he was asking to share her table or take a chair, but when she looked up, it was still only two-thirds full. Instead, the man – a tall, older gentleman wearing a clerical collar – was smiling expectantly at her. He looked familiar.

“Hello! I do hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting you,” said the man. “It’s just, I was over there getting my coffee, and then I suddenly recognised you! Aren’t you the young lady who works at the radio station? Piffling FM?”

Jennifer relaxed a little – this was a work conversation. “Jennifer Delacroix, Piffling FM,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand for him to shake. “And yes, I am. You were on our show, weren’t you?”

“That’s _right!”_ the man exclaimed, seeming delighted that she remembered him. “Reverend Nigel Wavering, at your service. I think it was about, oh, three months ago? And the topic was-”

“The existence of God,” Jennifer finished for him. “If I remember rightly, you debated both sides of the argument.” It had been a bit unexpected for a man of the cloth to be questioning the existence of God, but they’d had stranger guests on Piffling FM.

“Yes, well, there are some quite compelling arguments both for and against believing in a god – if, indeed, he, she or they exists,” Reverend Wavering said sagely. “If you come to one of my sermons, you can hear the others! And, well, it was quite a popular segment with the listeners, wasn’t it?”

As Jennifer recalled, they’d only had one caller in to that particular part of the show: Mayor Desmond Desmond, who’d called in to compliment his boyfriend on air and then talk about how he was usually kept very busy. “Yeah, I think some people really liked it,” she replied diplomatically.

“Good-o, well, I just thought I’d stop by and say hello, and let you know that I’m always available for a repeat appearance,” Reverend Wavering said cheerfully. “Oh, and by the way – I’ve heard,” he added, lowering his voice, “you know, just between you and me – that Georgie Crusoe is great at going on dates.”

Jennifer blinked, convinced she’d misheard. “I’m sorry?”

“Not first-hand, of course, I’m a very happily taken man,” the Reverend continued, and Jennifer considered the possibility that she had, in fact, heard him correctly. “A little bird told me. Just thought you might like to know. Well, I must be getting on! See you later!”

Waving brightly at her, the Reverend left with his coffee. Jennifer stared after him in deep confusion.

 _Great at going on dates?_ she thought to herself, and blushed. Who could have told the Reverend that, and why had he felt compelled to pass on the message? She looked over at the counter, but Georgie was busy with the coffee machine. And it wasn’t as if Jennifer could go up and _ask_ her about it. The Reverend had probably just had a little bit too much communion wine.

Deciding to puzzle it over later, Jennifer went back to reading her book.

* * *

It happened again about twenty minutes later. A young woman approached Jennifer’s table; she was wearing a hoodie from the community college with the hood up over her head, dyed-red strands of hair poking out and framing her face. Apropos of nothing, she struck up a conversation, nodding to Jennifer’s book.

“I like that book. Contains some incredible meta-analysis of like, the nature of literature and art, as well as human existence and our search for meanin’,” she said.

“Um – yes, it is quite good,” Jennifer replied, taken aback. Was this young woman an English student? Jennifer had no idea why she’d started talking to her all of a sudden. Maybe she just wanted some company. Studying could be quite lonely.

“Have you read ‘is first novel? I liked how it employed the epistolary form as, like, an homage to a bygone age of communication.”

“I… haven’t,” Jennifer admitted. She hadn’t actually looked at the author at all when picking up the book and had no idea what else he might have written. “But I might, uh, after this.”

“I mean, it’s not ‘is _best_ work, but it’s interestin’ to appreciate the contrast between ‘is early forays into the genre and what came later,” the woman stated confidently. “I better go, though, I gotta get to Introduction to Literary Criticism. It’s not got what I’d call the most ambitious syllabus, but there’s some good material.”

Jennifer had no idea why she was being told all of this, but she was right about the woman being an English student, at least. “Um, well, good to talk to you,” she said. “Enjoy your class.”

“Before I go, you should know that Georgie Crusoe is great at going on dates,” the woman said. “Like, really great. Exemplary, y’might say.”

“I… what?” Jennifer asked her faintly. Was this a practical joke? Was she being pranked?

“Just somethin’ I heard,” said the student, shrugging her shoulders. “Like all knowledge, you can choose to acknowledge or ignore it, but my role as the conduit for said knowledge has been fulfilled. May it be to your benefit.”

And with that, she left. Once again, Jennifer was left staring in confusion and more than a little consternation. She looked around the coffee shop, which was getting a little noisier as it filled up with customers, the sounds of clinking cups and spoons and quiet conversation filling the air. Jennifer looked for Georgie again, and was briefly alarmed when she couldn’t spot her behind the counter, until she made her out in a doorway that Jennifer was fairly sure led down to the storage room, having a conversation with someone out of sight.

It was the wrong moment to go over there, Jennifer told herself. And anyway, what would she say? _“Someone is either playing an elaborate practical joke on me or trying to set us up”?_ She couldn’t imagine how Georgie would react to that. Would she laugh? Look at Jennifer like she was mad?

Take her up on the idea?

Jennifer shook her head furiously and turned the page of her book even though she was fairly sure she hadn’t finished reading the previous one. She’d work out what was going on eventually, but until she did, there was no need to bother Georgie with it.

Or entertain silly fantasies.

* * *

The third time it happened nearly scared Jennifer out of her skin.

Jennifer had finished drinking her flat white and was contemplating her next move: should she leave, and try to come up with some way to spend the rest of her leisure time? It was only 9 o’clock, and the day seemed to stretch interminably ahead of her. Or, should she order another flat white and prolong her stay at the coffee shop?

Suddenly, a voice spoke from very, very close by.

“Would you like a refill?”

“Ah!” Jennifer gasped, jumping and clutching reflexively at the table. The speaker – who Jennifer recognised as the pale, insubstantial woman she’d seen a couple of times on very quiet afternoons – flinched backwards and immediately began apologising.

“Sorry! Sorry, that was my fault, I always stand too close to people-”

“Oh, I do apologise, I shouldn’t have jumped like that,” Jennifer was already saying, over her. “How rude you must think I am-”

“-it’s just so hard to judge these things, really, because otherwise you might not see me-”

“-my fault, really, I was lost in my own world-”

“-I’m just – I came to offer you more coffee, but maybe I’ll just go-”

“-no, please, don’t go, I’m sorry,” Jennifer said a little louder. “I’m fine, really. It’s fine.”

The woman stared cautiously back at her, and Jennifer had a sudden sense of meeting a kindred spirit. Maybe the woman thought so too, because she relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Antigone Funn.”

“Jennifer Delacroix,” Jennifer said, and for once, she left off the second half of her greeting. Maybe she was getting the hang of this ‘small talk’ thing. “You… run this place, don’t you?”

“With my brother,” Antigone said, and she pronounced ‘brother’ like it was a bad word. Jennifer hid a smile. “I’m an equal partner, but I don’t normally… come upstairs. I spend most of my time in the storage room. I grind and blend the coffee beans. It’s an art form.”

“Oh, well, that’s the most important part,” said Jennifer. “It’s a good blend. Notes of clementine.”

“…You’re being serious,” said Antigone after a moment’s pause. “Do you really like it?”

“Oh, yes, I really do,” Jennifer assured her. “I wouldn’t come here every day if I didn’t.”

“Would you like some more of it? The coffee, I mean. Your flat white. Would you like a refill?”

Well, here it was: a cast-iron excuse for her to stay longer. “Actually, I was thinking about getting some more,” Jennifer said with a smile. “Just let me get my purse-”

“It’s on the house,” Antigone said quickly. “Or, so I’m told, anyway.”

“Really?” Jennifer asked, surprised. “Do you normally give out free refills to customers?”

“Just the ones we like,” Antigone said, and made a high-pitched braying noise that Jennifer thought might have been a laugh. “Don’t go spreading it around,” she added, suddenly completely serious again.

Jennifer laughed a little nervously as she handed over her empty cup. “Well… thank you very much. I feel honoured.”

“Also, you should know that Georgie Crusoe is great at going on dates,” Antigone said, with the rushed manner of someone trying to deliver the information as quickly as possible. “I’ll just get your coffee-”

“Wait a second,” Jennifer interrupted her. “What did you just say?”

“Georgie Crusoe. Great at going on dates. So I’ve heard,” Antigone repeated, not meeting Jennifer’s eyes. “You know, just in case that information was relevant to you.”

“You’re the third person to say that to me today,” Jennifer said slowly.

“Am I really? What a coincidence.” Antigone laughed again. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“And you couldn’t tell me who told you to say that?” Jennifer guessed.

“Oh, no-one told me to,” Antigone assured her. “Definitely no favours were called in, at any point, to deliver that message. Just something I thought you ought to know.”

Wheels were turning in Jennifer’s head. A theory was forming that she couldn’t quite believe, mostly because she never dreamed… but if _Antigone_ had told her, Antigone who barely ventured above ground, Antigone who rarely had contact with anyone except her brother and Georgie…

_It’s on the house. Or, so I’m told, anyway._

“Let me come with you,” Jennifer said, standing up and putting her tote bag over her shoulder. Antigone looked taken aback.

“To the coffee machine?”

“Yeah. I just want to… talk to someone.”

“All right.”

As they wove their way through the tables, Jennifer felt that nervous thrill in her chest again, but this time it was mixed with hope. She wiped her palms on her jeans and took a steadying breath. _It’s okay. If this goes horribly wrong, you’ve got a perfectly good coffee machine at home._

As they approached the counter, Georgie was talking to Rudyard, who had evidently just started his shift. He was tying an apron around his waist and looked irritable.

“One coffee cup for a refill,” Antigone said, placing Jennifer’s cup on the counter. Jennifer half-expected her to phase through it like a ghost, but instead she walked around the side like a regular person, edging past her brother with a look of distaste. He stared at her.

“What are _you_ doing up here? In broad daylight?”

“Yes, hello, Rudyard, it’s lovely to see you, too,” Antigone snapped back. “Georgie, Jennifer wants to talk to you.”

“Jennifer?” asked Georgie, and whirled around, a distinctly hopeful expression on her face. Jennifer waved awkwardly, and the nervous fluttering in her chest increased tenfold. The sour expression on Rudyard’s face intensified.

“Whatever for? Georgie, we don’t have _time_ to be chatting to customers, we’ve got _work_ to do. We get the coffee in the cup across the counter on time.”

“Oh, shut up, Rudyard, you serve the customers,” said Antigone. “Leave Georgie alone.” And she disappeared through the storage room door.

“The nerve of the woman!” Rudyard exclaimed to thin air. “Serve the customers. Who does she think I am?” He turned to person at the front of the line, who was eyeing him sceptically. “Now look here. What do you want?”

“Uh… coffee?”

Shaking her head, Georgie came over to Jennifer’s side of the counter. “Hi. Didya like the flat white?”

“I did, yes,” Jennifer said. “It was very good. Good recommendation.” She hesitated, wondering how to broach the topic of the mysterious messages.

“Would you like another one?” Georgie asked, reaching for the cup.

“I would, but – I wanted to ask you about something, actually,” Jennifer said, quickly, before she lost her nerve.

Georgie stilled. “Oh?”

“Some strange people have been coming up to me all morning and telling me that you’re ‘great at going on dates’,” Jennifer said.

Georgie shrugged in a nonchalant way, fiddling with the coffee cup. “It’s true. I’m great at relationships, too.”

“R-really?” Jennifer stuttered. “And um, is there a reason that… these people… thought I might like to know this?”

Georgie looked up at her and gave her a lovely, shy smile. “They might have thought that it would be relevant to your interests.”

Jennifer was trying to think of a good response – something smooth that would also convey her enthusiastic acceptance – when they were distracted by a commotion nearby.

“You!” Rudyard was shouting at a man whom Jennifer recognised as the tall, good-looking owner of the trendy café over the road, Chapman’s. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here. You are _persona non grata_ on these premises. I know you want to poach Antigone away from me, and I won’t stand for it! She’s _my_ irritatingly obnoxious twin sister. You can’t have her.”

“Oh, who are you calling ‘obnoxious’?” floated up from the storage room. Antigone had left the door slightly ajar.

Chapman held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I come in peace, I’m not here to poach anyone – I just thought I’d say a friendly hello – here, I’m buying coffee, I wouldn’t spend money at your coffee shop if I were trying to sabotage it, would I?”

“You can’t sabotage us if we sabotage you first!” Rudyard retorted, looking slightly deranged. The other customers were continuing about their business as if nothing were amiss.

Georgie rolled her eyes at Jennifer. “They do this every day. Chapman always comes in at the start of Rudyard’s shift. He thinks he’s being subtle but he’s really not.”

Jennifer’s mouth opened slightly as she realised what Georgie was implying. Rudyard and… Chapman? Well, they did say that opposites attract. “So… all that shouting is cover for a… relationship?”

“Oh, no, nothing as logical as that,” said Georgie. “They haven’t actually got round to the whole… feelings part. Rudyard’s too oblivious, and Chapman’s in denial. But he comes in here every day. I guess he just likes to spend time around Rudyard, in whatever way he can.”

“I might know something about that,” Jennifer admitted, before she could think it through. Georgie’s face lit up, and Jennifer couldn’t bring herself to regret her sudden honesty.

“So… about that date…”

Jennifer ducked her head, a little embarrassed. “I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, if I’m honest. But I’d love to.”

“Don’t worry,” Georgie said, grinning and reaching out to take Jennifer’s hand. “I’m great at going on dates.”

“D’you know, I think I heard something about that,” Jennifer joked. She felt light-headed and giddy. She felt like she could do anything. Georgie wanted to date _her._ In her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have imagined her day off ending up like this.

“You’re off today, right?” Georgie asked. “Want to meet me-”

“GEORGIE, will you please escort Mr. Chapman OFF the premises!” Rudyard yelled, and Georgie huffed in exasperation.

“I’m _comin’_ , sir,” she called, and then turned back to Jennifer. “Sorry, work calls. But I get off shift at five – want to meet here after? We could get dinner.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Jennifer agreed almost before she’d finished speaking. “Sorry. I should probably play it a bit cooler. But I’d love to have dinner.”

“Cool’s overrated,” Georgie told her. “No-one’s cool, not really. It’s nicer when things are real.” She quirked a smile at Jennifer, and then said, “Five o’clock,” as she turned away and began to strong-arm Eric Chapman out of Funn Coffee.

“It’s a date,” Jennifer said as she watched Georgie go.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: this is how I imagine the conversation between Georgie and Antigone went when she asked Antigone to talk to Jennifer for her:
> 
> "Antigone... You know how you owe me for distracting Rudyard that time he tried to find out what you were watching at the cinema?"
> 
> "Vaguely..."
> 
> "And that time you accidentally promised to make sixty espressos for an entire circus troupe in one night?"
> 
> "We don't speak of that."
> 
> "Well... can I call in a favour?"
> 
> "That depends. Will it involve human interaction?"
> 
> "...A little bit?"
> 
> *deep sigh* "What is it?"
> 
> "You know that cute girl who comes in for her latte first thing in the morning? She's sitting at a table in the corner. I need you to go over and tell her that I'm great at going on dates."
> 
> "...Is there a reason that you can't tell her in person?"
> 
> "Well, she gets a bit nervous, and I don't want to put her on the spot. So I've been askin' a few people to go over and tell her. Just as a favour."
> 
> "A 'few people'? How many?"
> 
> "You're the third."
> 
> "And you think that being approached by several people to tell her that you're great at going on dates will make her _less nervous_?"
> 
> "Well, I'm hoping! So, will you? You can offer her a free refill at the same time. On the house."
> 
> *another deep sigh*
> 
> "The things I do for peace and quiet."


End file.
